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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27957266">Equals</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/chelseagirl/pseuds/chelseagirl'>chelseagirl</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Alienist (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Psychoanalysis, alcohol use</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 00:42:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,884</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27957266</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/chelseagirl/pseuds/chelseagirl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Laszlo Kriezler returns from Vienna, knowing more about himself than when he left.  But when he finds that John Schuyler Moore has not only not married Violet, but has started down a self-destructive path again, he knows it's time to intervene.   But will John accept his help?   And can he possibly share Laszlo's feelings?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Laszlo Kriezler/John Schuyler Moore, Violet Hayward/John Schuyler Moore</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Yuletide 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Equals</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bottomfeeder/gifts">Bottomfeeder</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The six months in Vienna had extended to twelve, before Laszlo Kriezler returned to New York.  After reopening his house, and checking in at the Institute, he looked around at the rest of his life and found it oddly empty.</p><p>He and Karen Stratton had parted amicably.  She’d decided to stay in Vienna permanently, taking her place in Sigmund Freud’s inner circle.  As for Laszlo, while he found the work – and the companionship – more fulfilling than he’d ever imagined, Vienna never became home.  He’d raised the idea of marriage with Karen once, thinking it was the right thing to do, but she had simply laughed.  “Neither of us is really that sort, though, are we?” she’d asked, as though they both already knew the answer.  And so it had been easy enough for them to go their separate ways.</p><p>On the return voyage, he found his thoughts turning again and again to John Schuyler Moore.  While their friendship had had its ups and downs, on and off since their Harvard days, he still thought of John as his closest friend.  Certainly, he was the only one Laszlo had ever felt comfortable opening up to, even in a limited capacity.  Until his psychoanalysis with Doctor Freud, of course, when he’d opened up in ways he'd never imagined possible.  All aspiring psychoanalysts had to be analyzed themselves, and both Laszlo and Karen had been fortunate enough to be chosen by great man.  Between the psychoanalysis, Karen’s openmindedness, and the rather louche nightspots they frequented at her instigation, Laszlo had learned a great deal about himself.</p><p>About himself, and what he might desire.  He’d found Karen delightful, exciting, life-changing even.  But when he thought about John Schuyler Moore, he felt his pulse quicken.  Only Mary had ever made him feel that way – Mary and John.</p><p>He'd sometimes wondered if John . . . well.  That John might have that same kind of openmindedness.  If he were to be honest with himself, he’d been thinking about John, a great deal, even before he and Karen had decided to go their separate ways.</p><p>But of course, John Schuyler Moore was a married man, now.  At least, that had been the intention when Laszlo had set sail for Europe – that John was to marry Violet Hayward, who’d locked him down by getting pregnant with his child.  The ring he’d given her was not Mary’s ring, the one Laszlo had passed on to John with his wish that one of them might be happy.  No, it was something flashier, something ostentatious that said all one needed to know about Violet.</p><p>To his surprise, Laszlo returned to New York to discover that John was still a single man.  Also, that he’d started drinking again, after over a year of sobriety that had impressed his friends and led them to believe he’d truly turned over a new leaf.</p><p>In fact, when Laszlo finally tracked him down, John was half seas over, at Cyrus Montrose’s bar on the lower West Side waterfront.  It was a rough place, not somewhere that a society gent like John Schuyler Moore might be expected to spend his time.  But, as John explained, as he slurred into Laszlo’s ear, it was nice to be away from anyone who might know him.  And Cyrus would not let anyone bother John.  If he drank too much to get home on his own, why, Cyrus would make certain he found himself back at Washington Square, safe and sound.</p><p>“But what happened?” Laszlo asked his friend.  “When I left town, you were well on your way to marriage and life in the Newport set.”</p><p>“Her father happened.  That summer at Newport, it drove me back to drinking.  The endless tedium of these people, and poor Vee, trying so hard to be everything they expected her to be.  I don’t think she had the slightest idea who she really was – thinking what they wanted her to think, wearing what they told her to wear, marrying who her father told her to marry.”</p><p>“Hearst really is her father, then?”</p><p>“Oh, yes.”  John had the good grace to look ashamed of himself.  “I suppose I was a less desirable catch, once I started drinking again.  I mostly just tried to numb myself, to get through the tedium, but a few times I went a bit too far and embarrassed them.”</p><p>“But Violet was . . . expecting.”</p><p>“And then she wasn’t.”</p><p>“Had she lied?  Had she never been with child at all?”  Laszlo quickly ran other possibilities through his mind –could it have been a hysterical pregnancy, the young woman having convinced herself so thoroughly she didn’t even know she was lying?  Freud had spoken of such things.</p><p>“No.  She was.  And then she wasn’t.  It happens.”  John took a deep breath, and downed the remainder of what was in his glass.  “We were walking on the beach, talking of inconsequential nonsense.  How she wanted to decorate the drawing room in the house her father was giving us.  Her hand was resting on my arm, when suddenly she gripped, tight.  And then she doubled over, in acute pain.  The bleeding started shortly afterwards.”</p><p>“And she miscarried?”</p><p>John nodded.  “She was confined to her bed for a week.  I felt so badly for her that I would have done anything she’d asked.  But in the end, she wasn’t even the one to call things off.  Hearst informed me that my services would no longer be needed.  Between my drinking and my promotion at the Times, I no longer fit his requirements.”</p><p>Laszlo shook his head.  “And she said nothing?”</p><p>“Vee was polite.  Embarrassed.  And entirely a creature of Hearst’s will.  That’s when I realized she’d never had feelings for me at all.  Not real ones.”</p><p>“Sara, then.  I wondered if the two of you might make a match of it.”</p><p>“Sara Howard needs not to be needed.  Not . . . personally.  She’d do anything for a client.  For me, if it were on a story or a case.  But she’s decided her Agency is her life.”  John smiled.  “Just like your Institute, I suppose.  And my newsroom.  Perhaps the three of us are more alike than I’d thought.”  The taller man’s gaze intensified, and Laszlo felt uncomfortable under his scrutiny.</p><p>“I learned in Vienna that I was hiding in my work,” said Laszlo.</p><p>“I think that’s true of all of us.”</p><p>“I learned why.  Things about myself.”</p><p>“This psychoanalysis, of which we hear so much.”</p><p>Laszlo nodded again.   He leaned forward, and put a hand on his friend’s arm.  The touch felt electric.  “It was enlightening.  Especially hypnosis.  Perhaps you’d like to try it?”</p><p>John pulled away abruptly.  “Good lord, no.  I don’t need anyone tinkering around inside my head.  Too much darkness there already.”  He caught Cyrus’ eye and motioned for another drink.  “Look, I’m sorry, Laszlo.  It’s been a strange time.  Come for dinner tomorrow night.  Sherry’s – I leave Delmonico’s to the Hearst contingent these days.”</p><p>“See you then,” said Laszlo, and took his leave, wondering if he’d overstepped with his touch.   But not before stopping at the bar, and asking Cyrus about his friend.</p><p>“Never thought I could feel so sorry for someone who comes from so much.  But there’s something so lonesome about the man, even when he's surrounded by friends.”  Cyrus’s eyes met those of his former employer.  “Kinda like someone else I can think of.”</p><p><br/>
</p><p>Dinner at Sherry’s was surprisingly like dinner at Delmonico’s.  Or perhaps it wasn’t so surprising, considering the clientele was much the same.  Laszlo watched John drain his glass, again and again, as they conversed.</p><p>“And Freud believes, much as we saw with the Japeth Dury and Libby Hatch cases, that there is always something underlying.  But not simply for the extreme cases, the ones I see at the Institute or the ones who end up going so far as to commit a crime. Even for the most outwardly stable of us all.”</p><p>John leaned back in his chair a little, and smiled.  “And who on earth do we know who’s entirely stable?  Think about my almost father-in-law.  His acquisitiveness, in particular.  Clearly making up for a traumatic event in his childhood.  I wonder if something he loved was taken away from him?”</p><p>Laszlo nodded.  “Roosevelt?  No one is that hearty or outdoorsy by nature.  Certainly not a well-off child from New York City.”</p><p>A little closer to the danger zone.  “You?  Me?  Sara Howard?”</p><p>“Sara has been open about what happened after her father died.  Although she seems determined not to show any vulnerability in the present.”  Laszlo fixed his eyes on John.  “But I was surprised at what Freud and I uncovered in our sessions.  Some of it I knew, and some of it, I hadn’t been ready to accept.  About my father, mostly.”  The injury that had put an end to his piano playing.  The abuse.  But more than that.  Did he dare say anything?  Would John be flattered or horrified?</p><p>“How did he get you to open up?  I think I’m one of your closest friends, Laszlo, and even with me, you’ve always been . . . guarded.”   Another sip.  “Tell the truth – did he get you drunk?  <i>In vino veritas</i>?”</p><p>Laszlo shook his head.  “Hypnosis.  I was able to let down some barriers under hypnosis.”</p><p>A snort.  “Hypnosis?  But that’s charlatan’s work.  Like séances and mind reading.”</p><p>“On stage, yes.  In a properly trained doctor’s office, no.  I could show you.”</p><p>“Here in public?  When I’m already half seas over?” John looked properly skeptical.</p><p>“No.  Tomorrow.  If you’re free in the evening, come to my home.  I’ll show you.”</p><p>“You’re on.  I should be finished at work about seven.  I’ll come by afterwards.”</p><p>“Seven-thirty, then?”</p><p>“I’ll see you there.”  John reached for the check, but Laszlo put his hand on top of his friend’s.</p><p>The touch thrilled him for a moment, but then he pulled away.  “Let me.  It’s been good to see you, my friend.  Until tomorrow.”</p><p><br/>
</p><p>Laszlo had barely had time to settle back into his home.  Stevie had kept an eye on the place in his absence, and exercised the horses, but he was living in the carriage house.  New full-time servants were yet to be engaged, otherwise.   So when Laszlo gave Stevie a generous cash bonus, with instructions to enjoy himself that evening, he knew he and John would have the privacy that the occasion demanded.  He laughed at his own foolishness – it was clear John would never reciprocate his feelings.  But John deserved privacy, if in fact the hypnosis was effective and he expressed things he’d never opened up about before.</p><p>When he heard the knocker, he hastened to answer the door himself, and ushered John into the front parlor.  He gestured to the couch, and settled himself into an armchair nearby.</p><p>“So, how does this hypnotism work?”</p><p>“Freud used his watch.”  Laszlo pulled the watch out of his vest pocket, and dangled it by the chain.  Back and forth, back and forth.  “Look at it, listen to my words, and think of nothing else.”</p><p>John stared at the watch, for a minute, for five, for ten.  And then he yawned.  “I have heard some people can’t be hypnotized.  Perhaps I’m one of them.”</p><p>“I’m sorry.  I thought perhaps I could help.”</p><p>“Help what?”</p><p>“With whatever is troubling you.”</p><p>“It’s nothing.”</p><p>“It’s not.  You gave up drinking; you began drinking again.  You were to be married; you’re not.”</p><p>John shook his head.  “If you really want to know, you don’t need try some Viennese parlor trick on me.  Just ask.”</p><p>It couldn’t be that easy.</p><p>“All right, then, John.  What is it that troubles you so?”</p><p>Laszlo watched as his friend turned his head and stared into the fireplace.   His breathing began to slow, and when he spoke, it was in a low, steady tone.  “I think I need to tell someone what happened – and who better than you, my alienist friend?  I first began to understand how reckless I was, that night at New Paresis Hall.  I’d felt stung when you said perhaps I had already played my role.  When Sara had silenced me when I attempted to protect her.  Even the Isaacsons seemed to regard me as negligible.”</p><p>“You turned down my offer of a ride home that night.”</p><p>John continued staring at the fire.  “I was angry.  I wanted to show that I could be of use.”  He sighed.  “It’s fortunate you thought to send Stevie after me.  I don’t think I ever thanked you.  Or him.”</p><p>“You never told us exactly what happened.   Just what you’d learned about Giorgio.”</p><p>“I went to Sally’s room, in hopes that he . . . she . . . he would tell me more.  In hopes that he’d want to help find Giorgio’s killer.”  Now John turned to face his friend, and smiled bitterly.  “But I took a drink from Biff Ellison, and clearly he’d put something in it.  Stupid, stupid.”</p><p>Laszlo kept his expression as neutral as he could.  “An easy mistake to make.”</p><p>“No.  I should have known better.  By the time I was in Sally’s room, questioning him, it was clear I’d been drugged.  He told me that Giorgio . . . Gloria . . . flew away.  And something about the man with the silver smile – you remember all that.  But then, I don’t remember anything for awhile.  And I woke up again.  Ellison and Paul Kelly were standing at the foot of the bed.  They told Sally . . . I think there were one or two others, as well, boy-whores . . . I – I couldn’t move.  I.”  He stopped, abruptly.</p><p>“Were you . . . violated?”</p><p>John nodded.  “Look at me – tall, strong, fit.  And I was violated – raped, like an innocent young girl.  By a boy-whore half my size.  I am ridiculous.”</p><p>Laszlo frowned.  “You showed poor judgment in going to Paresis Hall alone.  In accepting a drink from a criminal.  But you did nothing wrong.  You were a victim.”</p><p>“A victim!”  John brought his fist down on the arm of the couch, hard.  “Helpless.  I disgust myself.”</p><p>“And until you do not, your pain will continue.”  Laszlo took a deep breath.  “Many of us have been . . . victims.  At different points in our lives.  In different ways.  You took a chance.  It ended badly, but you made a real difference in solving the case.”</p><p>“I was violated by a young boy, who was a victim himself.  A double violation.  And it shows how weak I am.  What a joke.”</p><p> “It shows nothing of the sort.”</p><p>John’s leaned his head against the back on the couch, and he gazed at the ceiling, rather than his friend.  “Nevertheless.  I was raped by a thirteen year old boy-whore.”</p><p>“Freud believes almost everything stems back to sex.  I’m not sure that I agree.  But . . . have you been . . . that is.”</p><p>An ironic smile.  “Well, Vee really was expecting, and I’m quite certain it was mine.  And then there was--” he stopped dead.</p><p>Laszlo could see that he’d colored, slightly.  Someone he cared about, then.  And while Laszlo had his suspicions as to who that might have been, he decided it was best not to follow that line of inquiry any further.</p><p>“But,” said John, and he gave Laszlo a very direct look, so that now he was the one who’d flushed slightly.   “It’s not that Sally was a boy-whore.  I’ve no objection to the love that dare not speak its name. It’s that he was a child-whore.  Someone I should have been rescuing, helping.  We were both victims, of a sort, even as he violated me.”  He sighed.  “I’ve given up visiting brothels of the more conventional kind.  Now I wonder if their seductions are real.  Or are they victims, too?”</p><p>Laszlo thought of a crimson door down a dark hallway, back on the Continent.  “Some, I think, choose the life out of necessity, and others because it suits them.  Some because they have nowhere else they can be themselves.  In Vienna I saw places that became a haven for men, for women, who knew they were different.  But those under a certain age, you are right.”</p><p>“A haven,” said John.  “That would be nice.  Speaking of which, I should be on my way home.”</p><p> He rose to go, and Laszlo got up from his chair, as well.  Now, before he lost his courage.  “John, do you?  Ever look for a haven?  With another man?”</p><p>John looked at him.  “Sometimes.  Freely given, and freely taken.  With an equal.  And there is someone. I think we could be good for each other.”   He took a step forward.</p><p>Laszlo inhaled deeply. “Me?”</p><p>And John Schuyler Moore smiled, for the first time that Laszlo had seen since his return.  “Yes.  Oh god, yes.  You’ve fascinated me for years, Laszlo.  Ever since we first met.  But I never thought you were inclined that way—not in all this time, since Harvard.”</p><p>“I learned things about myself in Vienna.  Psychoanalysis with Doctor Freud, as it turns out, is very good for clarifying the mind.  Learning about repressed desires.  Of course, Freud thinks it’s a developmental stage.  But I think the good Doctor is wrong, there.”</p><p>John laughed, now.  “So are you going to lecture me on psychoanalysis, or are we going to—“</p><p>But before he could finish the sentence, Laszlo kissed him.</p><p>They didn’t speak again, not for quite some time.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>John is just beginning to examine his trauma, but for him to open up is, I think, a process.  I hope you enjoy your gift, Bottomfeeder, and can forgive me for ending on the clinch.  </p><p>Gratuituous <i>Citizen Kane</i> Easter egg very much intended.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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